


Melted

by TheGreatSporkWielder



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatSporkWielder/pseuds/TheGreatSporkWielder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't care if you're a human or a robot or a bloody toaster oven. I love you." Amy/Rory. Set during "Big Bang."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melted

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of it belongs to me.

**“...Since then, there have been no sightings of the Lone Centurion; and many have speculated that, if he ever existed, he perished in the fires of that night, performing one last act of devotion to the box he had pledged to protect for nearly two thousand years.”**

 

Amy stares, stunned, at the screen, tears pouring unnoticed down her cheeks. “Oh, Rory,” she whispers, and there's an ache in her chest, like a vital part of her has suddenly gone missing. _Dead_. How can Rory be dead?

 

This is so much worse than the time that he died during their encounter with the Dream Lord, because she got Rory back that time; that had just been a dream (thank _God,_ that ponytail had been _hideous._ That should have been sign enough that it was a dream; she would _never_ have let him grow it in real life). It's worse than the time she lost him that she couldn't even remember, but now does (how could she ever have forgotten him? Brilliant, sweet, gorgeous man that he was), because she got Rory back _again,_ even if he had been Plastic-Rory and not Human-Rory and she had only really remembered him in those minutes before he'd tearfully shot her.

 

Amy remembers everything about him now. She remembers how he was the only kid in all of Leadworth who didn't make fun of her because of the Raggedy Doctor. She'd known he didn't _really_ believe her, but he'd listened to her attentively and asked questions as though he did believe (“D'you think his blood is a funny color, like Mister Spock; or maybe he has two hearts or something?”), and she'd often caught him with his nose in some book about outer space or time travel; and when she had asked him about it once, he'd just shrugged and said that he was thinking of asking if _he_ could come along, too, and he wanted to be prepared. He had played Raggedy Doctor with her every time she asked him to (at one point, it had been for a month straight, every single day), and Amy's pretty sure she fell in love with him the moment when, after forcing down yet another helping of fish fingers and custard (which, honestly, was really disgusting), he'd wiped his mouth on a napkin and said, “You know, that's not half bad, really.”

 

Amy suddenly wishes that she'd told Rory that she loved him more often. She'd never been very good at verbally expressing her feelings; she'd always been more of an _action_ person, but Rory had been all about the words. He'd told her that he loved her a million times, at least. Told her how he loved her hair and her accent and her sass and the way her forehead crinkled when she was thinking. But when she opened her mouth to say something back, the words would stick in the back of her throat and her tongue felt heavy. She couldn't do _nothing,_ so she'd kiss him. He'd never confronted her about it, but Amy knew it bothered him that she'd never said the words to him. And now, she'll never have the chance. Never have the chance to tell him how much she loved his laugh and his long nose and his pragmatism and the way his hand felt in hers.

 

She's distracted from thoughts of Rory by the sudden appearance of a Dalek, who (as usual) is squawking about extermination. The Doctor suddenly appears in front of her in flash of light, sees the Dalek, and says, “Come along, Ponds,” grabbing Amy's hand and dragging her and her younger self out of harm's way. The Doctor snatches a fez (a _fez?!_ ) from a nearby mannequin and puts it on, saying something about a plan before dashing back to where Amy had been standing moments ago.

 

“What's going on?” an authoritative voice rings out, distracting the Dalek, who turns around and aims at the shadowy figure with the torch who appears in the doorway. “Scan it,” the Doctor says to the Dalek, “it's not a weapon.” The Dalek agrees that, whatever it is, it's unarmed. But the shadowy figure _isn't_ unarmed, and Amy watches as the figure shoots the Dalek, causing it to retreat. Amy runs back to where the Doctor is standing, but she stops when the voice (that she really should have recognized instantly) says her name, almost as if it can't believe it's really her.

 

She wonders if she's gone crazy, because she's can't be seeing what her eyes are telling her is right in front of her. Standing there, dressed as a security guard, is Rory. She gives a great choked sob, runs across the room and flings herself into his arms. He starts to say something, but she can't kiss him when he's talking, so she mutters at him to shut up and covers his mouth with hers. And she doesn't care that his lips are cool and feel plasticy or that he doesn't taste like Rory should taste; because he looks like Rory and he sounds like Rory and he _acts_ like Rory and he's _alive_ and he's here in her arms, and if the Doctor doesn't shut up and get away from them _right now_ , she's going to do something drastic, like lock him in the Pandorica again or burn up all his bow ties.

 

“Well,” she hears the Doctor say, a bit awkwardly, “I guess we can give you a few moments,” and Amy hears him lead Amelia out of the room. After breaking the kiss to take another gasping breath, Amy grabs Rory's shoulders, shoves him against a column and, ignoring his embarrassed protests about them being _in public,_ begins kissing and nibbling her way down his neck. He's murmuring her name now (God, how she loves the way he says her name), and his hands are in her hair, and she silently curses his plastic skin that doesn't allow her to leave any marks. Her hands make their way to his waistband, and she's aching to feel his skin beneath her fingers, so she reaches under his jumper and starts to untuck his shirt.

 

Rory suddenly shoves her away from him, gasps, “No!” and holds his hands out to keep her from coming closer. He looks frightened, and Amy, a bit dazed, can't understand why he would look at her like that. “Rory, what is it? There's no one here but us,” she says, leaning in to him and putting her hands on his waist again. “Amy, no, please,” he moans, but it's too late. His eyes close in defeat and his head tips back against the column as she slips her hand beneath his shirt to feel the smooth skin of his stomach.

 

But she doesn't feel smooth skin. She feels vague lumpiness and cold metal. Her eyes jerk up to his, which open slowly, and when he tilts his head down and his eyes meet hers, they're filled with trepidation. She yanks his shirt up and gasps.

 

“What _happened?_ ” she breathes, looking at the ruin of his body.

 

Rory gulps a few times, but can't speak, so he points behind her. She turns and sees the video playing again, saying that bit about the Blitz, and there's the drawing of the Centurion, surrounded by flames, dragging the Pandorica to safety.

 

“You got burned?” she asks, softly tracing her finger along one of the lumps of plastic.

 

“I melted,” he whispers hoarsely.

 

“All over?” she whispers back, slipping both hands beneath his shirt and sliding them along his hips toward his back, feeling more lumpy plastic and bits of gears poking through.

 

He nods and says, “I protected my head, and my hands just got a little bit, but the rest...the armor was like an oven, and I couldn't take it off because I had to save yo—the Pandorica.” By this time, he's speaking so softly she can barely hear him, and as he falls silent, he turns his face away and closes his eyes. Her eyes fill with tears and she leans in and presses her forehead against his chest, and whispers, “Oh, _Rory._ ” He's trembling, and Amy's heart breaks with the thought that he's scared of her. Scared that she'll reject him, now that there's irrefutable proof that he's not a human, that's he's not _really_ Rory.

 

So she lays her palms against his bare skin and, with the feel of the plastic and the gears beneath her fingertips, leans in to whisper fiercely in his ear, “I love you.” And his eyes scream their disbelief, so she splays her hands along his ruined back, presses against him even harder, and begins raining kisses all over his face; on his eyes, on his cheeks, on his marvelous nose. “I _love_ you, Rory Williams,” she says again, her voice shaky and thick with unshed tears. “I don't care if you're a human or a robot or a bloody _toaster oven_. I _love you.”_

 

Rory lets out a sound that's half-sob, half-laugh, and buries his face in her hair. “Two thousand years, I waited,” he whispers in her ear, his voice all trembly, and it's a bit weird that he's talking and yet she doesn't feel any breath against her skin, but she focuses instead on the feel of his (still-unsteady) hands settling gently at her waist. She feels like _she's_ the one who's all melted; she could stand here in his embrace forever, all the cosmos be damned, and she's about ready to when the Doctor pops up next to them again. “Come _on_ ,” he says urgently, tugging on their sleeves. “We've got to go _now._ You can finish the tearful reunion on the TARDIS, later; once we've finished saving the universe.”

 

_Bloody inconsiderate **universe**_ , Amy thinks as Rory grabs her hand and they run after the Doctor together. She wonders if, next time the universe is going to end, she can ask the Doctor if the universe can wait until _after_ she's properly said hello to the brave and wonderful and devastatingly handsome finacé she hasn't seen in (literally) forever.

 

At the very least, the TARDIS had better give them a nice, big, comfy bed. Because Amy's not going to let Rory out of it for a _very long_ time. He waited for her for two thousand years, and she fully intends to make up for every last second of it.

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot was inspired by a comment on TWoP, wondering how AutonRory could've survived 2,000 years without getting hurt.


End file.
